Someone Could Hold You Steady
by AuthorandArtist13
Summary: Otherwise known as those 5 times when Peter's anxiety had him faltering, and one time he let Tony catch him.


**A/N: Hoo boy. This baby was requested via Sarcastic Radiation (thank you! :D ) for a oneshot in my Series of Peter Parker Sickfics series, but, per the norm, I went a bit overboard. Enjoy. **

**TW for minor intrusive thoughts, anxiety/depression-related content, and dissociation.**

* * *

1.

"So," May said, plopping down at their apartment's kitchen table. She pulled her travel mug of tea closer to her and sipped. Peter could smell the intriguing aroma of any number of herbal blends wafting from it. "Tony told me you were shaky at the lab today." May raised an eyebrow questioningly.  
Peter did his best not to flinch. Sure, he had been a little nervous about some stuff lately, but he could keep it all under control. _Under wraps_. It wasn't like it was anything huge. Just a little bit of jitters every once in a while. He must have blamed it on caffeine he didn't drink one too many times, however, because apparently it was blatantly obvious he had something going on. _Nothing's wrong._

May was watching him carefully over her red-framed glasses. "What's going on, baby?"  
Peter's mind whirred, sending words flying around his brain like a tornado. _Not in Kansas anymore, Toto._ He inhaled once and the words settled into a decent lie like dust in the cracks of a ghost town.

"Yeah, I was just worried about my Spanish quiz coming up." he let out a shaky laugh to emphasize, hoping to high heaven he didn't sound like he was about to explode. May pressed her lips together for a moment, eyes searching for clues, but seemed to come up empty. She smiled warmly.  
"Alright. Do you need help studying?"  
"Nah, I got it." It hurt to lie straight to May's face like this. In all fairness, he _was_ worried about that quiz. He just had a few thousand other things he was stressing about, too. May stood and kissed him at the spot where his curls brushed up against his forehead. "Better get to it, then. I'm going to go take a bath."

Peter smiled and nodded, ignoring the way his chest ached.

* * *

2.

The next time was all about the nausea. Peter had dragged himself from the sickly sweet oasis that was his bed and made his way to the kitchen. A note from May sat on the table, fluttering from the wind of the portable fan whirring loudly nearby. Peter popped two pieces of bread into the toaster and poured himself a tall glass of milk. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Doing his best to ignore it, he buttered the toast and took a large bite. _Big mistake._

He forced himself to chew and swallow. It was chokingly dry. The swig of milk that followed was chalky. Peter's stomach growled loudly and he forced himself to eat another bite, then another, and another, following each with the milk. Halfway through the fifth bite he gagged and, running to the bathroom, leaned over the toilet. Nothing came up. _What a disgusting victory._ A tear rolled down Peter's cheek. If he was so hungry, why couldn't his brain just shut up and let him _eat?_ He had nothing_-so much-_to worry about. He was starving. He should eat, right? Peter got up and the scent of the half-eaten toast hit him. _Nope._

He grabbed his bag and locked the door on his way out.

* * *

3.

The paper lying innocently on his desk sent daggers streaking down Peter's throat.

_You got a 73%? That's just enough to drop your quarter's grade into a D, Parker. Fabulous work. Well done._ Peter's breathing grew tight and he shook his head roughly once, twice. This was fine. He was fine. He could just go talk to Mr. Harold and explain the whole thing to him _except for the teensy little detail about you being Spiderman, you can't tell him that, can you? It's not exactly the most believable excuse for lack of concentration._

No, no. He could make something up. Or he could ask Mr. Stark for help, he always knew how to fix this stuff. _But then you'd be doing worse. And he would figure it out. He might realize he can't fix it, and you're too dependent on him already_. Peter shook his head roughly again to clear away the cobwebby voice. His eyes were burning, and he realized all too late that MJ was watching him._ Shit._  
Self-consciously he flipped the test over and started packing up his things early, the red ink bleeding out at him, smothering him. His breaths were coming in sharp bursts. Who cared what Mr. Harold was saying about "does anyone have questions about incorrect problems?" He was just gonna zone out for the rest of the hour.

Quietly, he blinked back his tears and slipped into the numbing, blank space that was himself.

* * *

4.

"So do you want to reconfigure the webs next or what?" Tony asked, spinning around on his lab stool and pointing a pair of wire clippers at Peter lazily.  
"What?" Peter looked up. He had been completely zoning out, letting the loud beat of Tony's rock music wash over him as he tried to take apart a circuit board with clumsy fingers.

"Ha-ha, very funny." Tony said. He saw the look of genuine confusion on Peter's face and frowned. "Your suit. Do you want to do the webs now?" He spoke slowly, as if he were trying to explain to someone much younger. Peter's heart picked up speed._ He's getting impatient with you._  
"Oh. Right." Peter pursed his lips. "Um...I mean-yeah, we can-we could do that." _Damn stutter._  
"We _could_ do that? Geez, Pete, I always considered you far more eloquent than this." Tony teased. Peter chuckled flatly, and Tony's brow furrowed at the lack of a snarky retort and crossed the room, plopping himself into another chair at Peter's station.

"So that's a no then? That's fine, you can keep tinkering if you want."  
"No-I mean, it's a yes, I just-'no' as in, uh…" _Words, Peter Benjamin Parker. Why can't you use your words?_

"Alright, so that'll be one yes-no-maybe, with a side," Tony said, tilting his head and pulling the socket wrench out of Peter's grip, "Of hey: You okay there?"

Peter's blood ran cold. No. No he _was._ _You're doing alright._ Part of him was yearning, almost pleading with himself to just let go, to stop trying to hang on to this slippery rope that burned his palms, and for what? But the other part-the rational part, he thought-told him very plainly that if he told Tony or May or whoever, then they would _know._ And them knowing wasn't his favorite option. So instead:  
"I'm good."  
"Uh-huh. Then why do you look like you're about to spontaneously combust?"  
"Do I?" _Do I-do I-do I?_ Peter shrugged flippantly. "Guess this circuit board is driving me nuts."  
"Wouldn't be surprised," Tony said, pulling the offending item closer to him. "This one's got me stumped, too."  
Peter rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that."  
"What?" Tony pressed a palm to his chest in mock offense. "Me? Pretend that common circuitry is a challenge for the sake of some random intern? I would _never."_

"Huh." _Random intern._ Usually Tony's lighthearted teasing didn't prick at him like this, but he was too busy repeating the words in his head to make note of the loss of agitation in them. Peter turned away to reorganize his cluttered station, missing the concerned glance that was thrown his way.

They went back to work silently after that for another hour or so. Peter fell back into the soothing routine of his tinkering, and Tony planned out fifteen more upgrades for Rhodey's suit. It was nice, really, Peter thought. He didn't have to talk to anyone (unless you count Dum-E, who insisted on bringing him a new pencil every five minutes). He didn't have to put up too much of a front. And he got to do what he was best at: _worrying-_mechanics. Maybe he'd even ask Tony about those suit upgrades later.  
He would have said yes to it before-he'd tried to, after all-but he was just so_ tired_, and even repeating himself felt like he had to drag each syllable off of his tongue. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter that they weren't doing the improvements that night. But he had wanted to. He'd been looking _forward_ to it. And not having the energy to use his brain to focus and speak was so...frustrating. Or maybe it was bone-crushingly disappointing. He couldn't tell the difference.  
Maybe he should say something?

Nah.

* * *

5.

He'd become fairly immune to the numbness by now.

Maybe that's why they called it numbness, huh?

Walking through the hallways at school, dodging people clutzily. Eating lunch with Ned and MJ, wading his way through conversations he appeared totally invested in. Movies with May, homework, the ever-growing appeal of staring at his wall. It was all a little fuzzy around the edges now.  
His new normal.  
This time it was nothing special-walking to Ned to their shared English class. He even felt okay. Just a little out of it, was all. But pretty soon his mind was slamming the override button, and he got swept up in a new wave of thoughts.

"-ter? _Peter…" He's annoyed-annoyed-annoyed-_  
"Yeah? Sorry, got distracted." _Sorry-sorry-sorry..._  
"I know." Ned looked him over, an unreadable expression on his face. "You do that a lot."  
"Sorry."  
"Mm." There was an awkward lull in conversation. Then, "I was saying, do you think you're gonna join math team again this year?"  
_God bless Ned._ Peter smiled genuinely. "Duh."  
"Why'd I even ask? Of course you are. I was thinking maybe we could try the football team too, you know, just in case we need another activi-"  
"Hold up," Peter said incredulously, stopping in his tracks. "Did you just suggest we try out for the _football team?"_

"Just making sure you're paying attention." Ned elbowed Peter playfully, who laughed.  
"Good."

And, for a bit, the loudness in his head was quiet.

* * *

+1

It didn't go how he thought it was going to.

There was no stuttering, denying, or total freak-outs. There weren't any blubbered sobs. It was the most nonchalant, casual "by the way, I'm messed up" Peter could have ever mustered. The fact that Tony was calm about it all was a gift from the gods above.  
The fact that Peter acted similarily was just pure, dumb luck.

The whole ordeal went something like this:

Peter showed up to his lab day with Tony to find him...not in his lab. He called his number confusedly, panic shooting through his veins. _He forgot-you showed up at the wrong time-what day is it-he decided not to show-pickuppickuppickup wait NO-_  
"Pete, hey!" Tony said, almost exuberantly.  
"Um, hi." Peter tugged on his hoodie's strings. "Where are you?"  
"On the roof."  
Peter crinkled his brows at the unusual cheeriness in Tony's voice. "Okay…"  
"Just come up here. The weather's lovely this evening."  
The call disconnected with a click.

...

Peter stepped out onto the barren roof, the wind rippling his hair Tony sat near the ledge, propped up on his elbows with his toes just poking out into the evening sky. Peter plopped down next to him. For a long time neither of them said anything, instead watching the sky change from hues of golden auburn to wispy indigo against the slowing backdrop of the city.

Street lights flickered on one by one like tiny fireflies as the night fell-slowly, then all at once until you almost forgot it had been day at all. The one by the door to the roof fizzled to life and Tony tore his gaze away from the haziness of it all.

"The concrete feels exceptional tonight, don't you think?"  
Peter's soft laugh glazed off his lips. "It's great."

He looked over at Tony. The lamp shone a circle of light on the rooftop that just grazed where they were resting, illuminating Tony's face and shoulders. Peter could make out the gray hairs flickered throughout Tony's hair and beard, and see the flecks of bronze in his dark eyes. He looked how Peter felt. Peaceful, at ease.  
Tony smiled, and he turned back toward the skyline. "I figured we could both use a little sunset," he said, gesturing out vaguely. "Especially since my rooftop is prime seating for such an event."  
Peter nodded. "It was beautiful."  
"It was." Tony replied, and there wasn't a need for either of them to say anything more. But Peter could feel that subtle yearning tugging at his chest. He could just spit it out, right then. _Guess what, Mr. Stark? I have problems you cannot possibly fix! Isn't that cool?!_ Part of him wanted to obey that thought, that feeling of_ he will know_ that was bouncing around his skull. But he knew-he could just _tell-_that if he did it any other time it would just be twice as messy and embarrassing. Maybe more.  
Peter took a deep breath, chest alarmingly tight. _Here we go, I guess. Takeoff in T-minus three...two...one…_  
"Mr. Stark?" The words cut through the silence enrapturing them.  
"Hm?"

"I've got a situation."  
"Shoot."  
There was a pause, in which Peter dug his fingernails into his palms until they bit. Tony noticed, reaching over and tapping his knuckles, and he stopped. _Say it. _

"I think I've got anxiety or something."

And just like that, it was done.

Tony nodded. "Okay."  
Peter had to hold back a scoff. He was torn between being angry at Tony's lack of response and being overwhelmingly grateful for it. Instead of revealing either of these emotions he spoke. "Okay?"  
"Yeah." Tony shrugged. "You seemed pretty stressed lately. It's something we can work with. Oh, and I've got it too, so…" he nudged Peter in the ribs. "No big deal."  
"Oh. Alright."

"Do you want to talk about it more?" Tony asked carefully, turning his way.  
"Nope."  
"Cool. We can figure out some stuff tomorrow then, yeah?"

"Yeah, sure."

Peter fell onto his back and stared up at the sky, suddenly exhausted, and Tony followed, grumbling about his creaky joints.

"This is the best part of sunsets." Tony said, as he tapped his watch and the roof's light went out. They were so high up it was almost completely dark, save for the few glowing orbs of the city below. The cars hummed softly, and faint acoustics could be heard from a bar across the street. Peter looked up.

The stars were out. They were scattered everywhere, like a little velvet bag of diamonds ripped open at the seams. Tony was right. This was the most dazzling thing he had ever seen. All of the voices in his head stilled to an awestruck murmur, and he felt as if he were perfectly content. Perfectly quiet. It was _stunning._ He wanted to stretch out both hands and scoop up all of those diamonds, capture the sky (or maybe have it capture him).

"Look," Tony said, reaching out an arm. He carded his fingers through Peter's hair soothingly. "You can see Orion's Belt."

And so it was.

...

(Anyone who has at least one good ear knows quiet doesn't last forever. It's impossible. Your heart, your lungs, the smack of your lips, the crackling in your ears-you couldn't possibly live without hearing these things. It's consistent. A constant, tangible reminder that even when you can feel the cracks ripping you apart, something will always hold you together.

Someone will always hold you together.)

* * *

**A/N: And so it is. **

**Thank you guys so much for reading this little bit of what I hope will be helpful or encouraging or just plain nice to one of you. I sincerely wanted this to be as accurate as I could make it, but any apologies if I put something in here that wasn't. Please leave me a review or a PM to let me know what you thought of it, and if you'd like more mental health Peter/Tony/whoever in the future. You guys rock, and I'll see you later.**

** -A.A.13**


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